Glad You're My Brother
by Joby87
Summary: Sam and Dean become victims of a drunk driver. And one of them may or may not survive. Hurt Sam/ Hurt, Hypothermic Dean.  Part Two is up for those you have asked!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Guys! Just a new one-shot I thought of. Hurt Sam/ Hurt, Hypothermic Dean. Beware Character Death. *Gasps* Shocking, I know! Enjoy!**

**Glad You're My Brother**

Tiny flurries of snow drifted almost alluringly across the icy midnight sky. Soft and placating, they softly blanketed his face, leaking into his eyes. The corners of his mouth crinkled into a smile.

Snow? On a Christmas morning? Always a sign of good things to come.

Sam lifted his lanky arms and danced around in a circle, the pellets of icy dust swirling off his tall frame like a white cape. The sun had yet to rise. The park was dark, empty, and calm, almost serene. Even the hibernating trees, with their ominous scraggly branches covered in mounds of white seemed like this was a dream. It was freezing; his feet trapped within a foot of white. But that small smile remained.

Crunching sounded next to him. He turned and looked up into the bright dazzling green eyes of his big brother. Hands in pockets, with his leather jacket tightened around his tall slender frame, Dean flashed a most sacred grin; one that said "this is for you Sammy. At least it's not Malibu Barbie this year."

Sam's own smile grew bigger and he immediately leapt forward, falling onto his back, and swishing his arms up and down. Dean emitted a small chuckle, shaking his head, before dropping next to him, imitating the same movement.

"I can make my angel bigger than yours," Sam said, moving his arms faster.

"Somehow I really doubt that, midget," was his brother's brusque sarcastic reply.

"Just watch me!"

Twenty minutes later, there were about thirty or more "snow angels" imprinted in the deep snow: one big, one little. The two brothers argued about which was their own, but eventually, understanding how stubborn and tenacious his little brother was, Dean had concurred that Sam had created the larger of the two sizes.

"This is the most fun I've had in a while." Though awkward as it felt, Sam gave his big brother a hug around the waist. "Glad you're my brother Dean."

"Ah thanks squirt. Ha, bet I can make a better snow man," Dean challenged, running off

"Oh no, you can't!" Sam ran after him.

He only managed a few lengths when a pain unimaginable spread throughout his head. Searing. Agonizing. Something torturous chiseled its way right above his left ear, and Sam went down with a yelp. Flashes. Burning, effulgent flashes appeared before his eyes, many tiny white dots dancing all over the dull green orbs.

Next there were horrible sounds piercing into his ears. The sound of shattering glass, crushing metal, and blaring horns-like a car horn.

Sam was confused. He stood up and called for Dean…but Dean was no where in sight. The big block of snow used as the snowman's base was left barren. He looked around in a panic. The pain above his ear intensified and he was left reeling. The influx of flashes struck up again, going faster, and faster, becoming louder; the sound of crashing and the sounds of yelling now added into the mix.

"Dean!" Sam called out into the wide open space. Nothing but his echo responded. "DEAN!"

And still there was no answer.

"_Dean!"_

"_DEAN!"_

He called again and then stopped. His voice sounded much different than his twelve-year-old former squeak. It was deeper, smoother, penetrating deeply into his aching skull. Next a series of groans, pained groans entered amongst the murky confusion. _What was going on?_

The pain in his head magnified, followed by an acute pain coming from…well, everywhere. Sam's breath hitched…

…and he opened his eyes.

Quiet, bone-chilling quiet was all he could produce. The pain hadn't receded, causing him to cringe, regretting opening his eyes, regretting in waking up. The groans reverberated again throughout the interior of his head and it was then he realized the groans were coming up him, soft strangles of pain involuntarily erupting from his vocal cords.

Reluctantly he pried his eyes opened to slits, blinking away several snow flurries dotting his face and neck. The first thing he noticed was a beautiful design of ice, intricate spiny lines and curves. At first he thought it was the biggest snowflake he had seen…only instead the longer he observed the wondrous, beguiling lines, the more he realized they weren't designs off a snowflake…but cracks! Splintered cracks in glass. The fuzziness outlining his thoughts lifted and it was then he understood he was peering up at a fractured windshield.

_Fractured windshield? What the Hell?_

The farther his conscience reached outward into the fringes of reality, the more Sam began to realize how much of a shit situation he was in. Horrid hot pain seared into his sides. He looked down and saw that he was suspended up, trapped within his seatbelt. The straps dug gratingly into the chilled flesh. Gasping, Sam moved, but stilled as the pain amplified.

It was freezing. The cold sliced criminally through his muscles like icy knives. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. His body shuddered, wanting to fall back into the darkened void to escape this overwhelmingly surreal reality. Shivers, harsh shivers wracked through his body, his teeth chattering severely, biting into his lower lip. Steeling his resolve did nothing, as his body's reflexes took over, momentarily paralyzing him.

Sam couldn't think of what happened. The last he could recollect before falling into his memory of that happy Christmas morning was he and his brother on their way to Bobby's in South Dakota. The roads were icy, covered in at least two inches of snow. Dean wasn't driving his usual fear-inducing speeds, but rather ten miles under the speed limit. They were talking about Bobby's porkloins and pumpkin pie, their stomachs aching, and their mouths watering at the thought; about how they couldn't wait for the Christmas feast that awaited them.

The Impala's dash board loomed ahead, splashes of red adorning the tan interior. There was no hum of the engine. No creaking of its door. No cursing from his hotheaded brother.

Flashes. The bright cornea-shredding flashes began again. But this time he saw the Impala's speedometer reaching fifty; the black curve in the road approaching steadfast; the wheels rounding the corner and the flare of two bulbous headlights of a dump-truck driving on the wrong side of the road.

The images slowed becoming one long flow. Sam remembered the truck coming for them at top-notch speed, the quick steering action his brother made on the wheel to avoid it, and the sheer deafening crunch the truck made as it impacted on Dean's side, sending the Hot-Rod through the guard rail. He remembered the up and down motion, his body and head slamming into the passenger window and dash as the car rolled down the long embankment. There was a huge splash, more shattering glass, and then all went dark.

Sam groaned some more, before gasping in surprise. There certainly was a loud splash…but why?

There was a lake. The road they drove upon was outlining a gigantic pocket of water. Then he remembered there was no cursing. If his brother was awake, there was bound to be a whole pitcher of profanity spilt in the car. He glanced down and his heart immediately skyrocketed up his throat.

There wasn't any doubt there was a lake now. The entire driver's side was submerged in the frigid, black liquid, along with his brother. Dean's head sat above the water, pale, his lips blue, tar stains of blood swathing the side of his temple.

"D-D-Dean!" Sam struggled within his confines, his teeth chattering faster. "D…D-dean, t-talk t-t-to m-me."

His brother didn't respond, but remained motionless, his eyes frozen shut, icicles forming at the tips of his hair and eyebrows.

"D-Dean," Sam tried again. "C-Co…come on!"

He was returned again with yet another silent answer. Immediately Sam searched for his phone. He had to get his brother out and he needed help. Pulling the device from his jacket pocket, he thanked his lucky stars there was a signal and he had the number on speed-dial.

"911. State your emergency." The operator's rough stoic tone sounded.

Sam cringed, as another searing pain ripped through his head. "U-uh…" he gasped. "I…I n-need he…help."

"Okay. Tell me the situation."

It was becoming harder to speak with each second. Simply his body just didn't want to obey his command. "C-car c-crash. Truck h-hit u-us head…head on. P-please…m-my br…brother is trapped…under water."

"Alright calm down. Are you hurt?"

Sam huffed, the pain causing to cross his eyes. "Y-yeah. I…I d-don't k-know i-if I can move."

"Can't move," he heard clicking in the back ground. "Sir, can you tell me where you're at?"

"U-um…u-um…I uh…I can't think…I…"

"Don't worry sir. We tracked your cell's signal and an ambulance is on the way. They can be there in ten minutes."

The panic swelled within Sam's gut. "T-that's n-not enough t-time…he…" he slurred, his eyes closing. Exhaustion set in along with the dulling ache, and all he wanted to do was fall back asleep.

"Sir…Sir! Can you hear me?" The operator called.

Sam jerked back to full awareness as a trickle of his own blood poured into his eye. He wiped it away placing the phone back to his ear. "I-I'm…I'm here," his voice was losing control. The cold was unbearable now, the shakes way too much. "J-just please…hurry." He said into the speaker before his fingers went numb and the phone slipped from his grasp, plummeting into the dark liquid.

_Shit_, Sam thought. Ten minutes was too long. Who knew how long Dean had been sitting in the water. He could be dead already, having succumbed to the devastating effects of Hypothermia. _No. No, I gotta get him out of here._

Having given up pushing in the button release on the buckle, Sam sought for his Swiss army knife hidden in his back pocket. Fumbling with the blade as he pulled it out, his hands shook harder from the cold as the metal tore through the nylon straps. His breath shuddered and he paused, seeking the determination he needed. After about ten seconds, he continued with his work.

The last strap broke once midway and Sam fell. Icy deathlike claws pierced into skin, enshrouding him, taking him under. The moment he hit the water, it was like Death itself had found it another victim. Sharp needle-like stings bit into him, jolting his senses into overdrive. The shivers intensified; the chattering non-stop. His blood on impact stopped and froze.

Sam grimaced. Pushing through the cold was tough, but his brother didn't have long…or had any time at all. Torpedoing his hands through the water, he felt around for Dean's belt. He felt none, no strap; no buckle. And it was then he realized that Dean never wore a safety belt when driving-believing it to be too Frank McClusky. They rolled down the hill and Dean more or less was like a rag-doll enjoying the ride. _Oh Crap! How he's still in the car beats me! _

Instantly, the wonderful relief that befell him was like witnessing a newborn birth. If Dean had his seatbelt on, then he surely would have been strapped down into the seat and would have drowned, rather than floating. Who knew not having a seatbelt would have saved his life?

"I-It's o-okay D-Dean. I'm g-gonna g-getcha out of here," Sam stammered.

His mind was ice. It was so hard to think, to even delegate tasks to his limbs. The cold was becoming part of him now. He shook his head several times, anything to fight past the icy claws of hypothermia.

A single thought wiggled its way through…and he didn't like the option. All Dean was at the moment was dead weight. Trying to lift him out of the water would be like trying to pick up a Friesian with one hand. Yeah, not happening! So that left option number two!

"D-dude, you're n-not g-going to like this. B-but we…we g-gotta s-swim outta here." Sam groaned.

Glad that there was no protest, even if every part of him were screaming, Sam sunk some more into the depths, wrapped an arm around Dean's back. Puffing from the strenuous activity, Sam managed to pull his unconscious brother up. Dean's head softly fell onto his soaked shoulder. He couldn't tell if he was breathing. He couldn't tell if he was alive or dead and he wasn't going to take the time in locating a pulse. Time was running out!

"C-come on. W-we c-can do it."

Strangely enough, as he said that last part, the little worker mice's song from the Disney Flick _Cinderella_ popped in his head- _We can do it. We can do it. We can help our Cinderelli!_ –reminding him of the time when they were teenagers, and as a payback, Dean tied him to a chair all day and put the movie on repeat. The song became stuck in his head ever since.

And now, it was further stuck as it kept playing over and over in his head.

"If w-we m-make i-it o-out of this…I'm g-gonna k-kill you f-for g-getting that s-song stuck in my head Dean," Sam gritted out. "_We can do it. We can do it._ _We can make her dress so pretty. There's nothing to it really._"

Pinching the bridge of Dean's nose and clasping his palm over Dean's mouth, Sam dove down and swam through the broken window, pulling Dean with him under the lake's freezing surface. The weight of them both sunk like a rock and Sam kicked hard, despite his own numbness. _We can do it. We can do it._

Out into the night, everything was eerily calm and silent. Sam kicked hard, keeping his hand clamped tightly over Dean's mouth and nose. He couldn't afford for his brother to accidentally inhale possible sewage. With one last kick, he broke through the surface, gasping for air loudly. The crisp, icy air pulled into his starving lungs hurt, robbing him of his senses. A bit dizzy, Sam lifted his brother up, tipping his head back onto his shoulder. Dean hadn't stirred a bit, and slowly doubt was beginning to worm its way into Sam's head.

He pressed on, however, making his way to the embankment. _Fix the breakfast. Do the mopping. They always keep her hopping._ Sam rolled his eyes as another verse spilled from his lips, but he kept on mumbling. _She's goes around in circles, until she's very, very dizzy. Still they holler: keep it busy Cinderelli._

Soon the sloppy, muddy slope padded the underside of his bottom, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dean's body floated up to the top and Sam wrapped his arms around his torso to keep him anchored. He back-crawled some more up the embankment, dragging Dean's heavy form out of the water and into his lap. Exhausted, Sam slumped over resting his wet head onto Dean's shoulder. In the background, he could hear sirens.

"Oh t-thank G-God. W-we d-did it." Sam breathed. He tightened his hold as the shivers returned with a vengeance. "H-h-hang o-o-on D-D-Dean. Th-they're a-almost here."

And Dean had yet to respond. That wretched doubt crept back into full force now and Sam could no longer resist it. He had to know. The wind howled, blowing fast against him, the cold insurmountable. His fingers quivered tremendously as he placed them into the spot at the crook of Dean's neck. He waited and shivered. He waited some more, the shivers persistent.

He waited a long time. And he couldn't find it. He tried again, his breathing quickening, the fear of what it indicated profound. _Please, please no. Tell me I made it in time._

The sirens sounded closer, a storm of rainbow colored lights flickering from behind him. But Sam didn't have a care in the world for them at that second. His one and only focus was on the heap lying in his lap. He smacked his brother's cheek several times, and tried for a pulse again. Was he just that cold and hardly had any feeling left? Was it because of that he couldn't find it?

It had to be! Dean was a fighter. Though knocked out or not, he wouldn't let a simple case of hypothermia take him. He's put up with reapers, demons, Hell Hounds, Angels…and he's just going to let cold water kick his bucket? That sounded odd, even if it were true.

"Come on Dean. D-don't l-leave m-me h-hangin'," Sam pleaded, placing Dean's heavy arms onto his chest. "Hey wake up," he smacked his cheek again.

Still nothing.

Sam gasped. No, it couldn't be true. _No way!_

"No Dean. No!" he whispered desperately into his ear. "No, don't do this to me. Come on Dean. Wake up please. Please!"

Beams of light flashed down the slope shining on Sam's back, along with shouts from the paramedics. Sam couldn't respond. He was too distraught. He lost his brother. He waited too long in pulling him out of the Impala's watery grave. And now he was all alone, no longer having his partner in crime in taking on whatever dark destiny that awaited him.

"Dammit Dean!" He cursed loudly and threw down a balled fist onto the man's chest. Angrily he threw it down again, and…

…Dean coughed.

Gasping in surprise, Sam rolled him over, beating on his chest again where copious amounts of black lake water fled from Dean's mouth. Smiling with relief, Sam pulled him up against his chest once more, embracing him tightly. "O-oh m-my G-god, you i-idiot. Y-you s-scared the s-shit out of m-me."

Dean coughed one last time, his breathing ragged as his body, too, succumbed to the chill-induced tremors. "S-ssammm," he slurred.

"I-I'm r-right h-here D-dean," Sam replied.

Dean blinked rapidly. "W-w-what h-happened?"

"L-long s-story."

The paramedics were now transcending down the decline. Sam turned and saw them with ropes, trying hard to fly down the muddy slopes. He also noticed the dump-truck to be nowhere in sight. He huffed, understanding that the bastard had made a hit and run. _That's okay, he forgot his plate number_, Sam thought seeing the smashed white metal hanging off the guard rail.

He turned back to his brother. "It's g-going t-to be okay Dean. Help is here."

Dean shivered, his teeth chattering violently. "O-okay."

Sam hugged him tighter, closing his eyes, waiting on the help they needed to arrive by their side.

"Hey S-Sam," Dean spoke.

"Yeah?"

"I-I'm g-glad y-you're m-my brother. I really am."

That smile Sam remembered from his memory found its way back. He replied, "Me too."

"Good," Dean answered. "Now get off me."

**Finite!**

**R.I.P. Impala Baby! Don't worry, your death will be avenged! **

**Hope you liked it! ;p**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Well, several had asked for a part two to this…and so here it is! No worries; no character death for this one…or is there? ;) Note: I am not a medical professional, so I'm apologizing ahead of time for any and all medical fallacies. :)  
**

**A/N: And to **_**HotShow**_** and **_**Pandora Jazz**_**. I am unable to reply back to your previous reviews, so I want to extend my thanks out this way. Thanks so much for reading!**

**Glad you're my Brother Pt. 2**

"Sir! Sir, it's alright. You can let go now. We've got you."

Sam strained to listen. He heard the paramedic's rough, deep voice, but it sounded muddled and distant, and for a small second, he was terrified in thinking he may have still been underwater. The shivers had yet to abate, his whole body frozen solid.

Dean lay motionless in his lap. He went quiet all about thirty seconds ago when the EMTs finally had reached them. Two of the medics carefully gripped Sam's shoulder blades gently so as not to startle him.

"Sir, let go of him, alright? It's okay. We're not going to hurt you," one of the two said. Sam couldn't see a face, his eyes, it seemed, were iced shut. A soft hand carefully glided on top of his, tugging softly at the clasped fingers clinging to his brother's jacket.

Understanding the motive, and through arduous effort, Sam was able to release his fingers-but not without crying painfully at the movement. His whole body hurt now; tense, every muscle a frigid block of ice. Even at the slightest bit of motion, angry spikes of torture tore through his body, almost like they were eviscerating him.

The medics pulled him backwards off Dean. Sam screamed as a fire, hot and wretched, seared throughout his chest. The two slowly lowered his back to the frozen ground. His hands quivered faster, the pain unmentionable. Horrible catcalls of pain escaped his throat, turning into hitching gasps.

"Nice and easy. Nice and easy," he heard a paramedic say before the man bellowed, "WE NEED TWO STRETCHERS DOWN HERE NOW!"

"S-sammy." Dean's barely audible call reached his ears, but he couldn't reply. Sam's only focus was on the sky, watching the flurries descend from the heavens. He wanted that numbness from before to return. The fire had spread dangerously from his chest to his arms, his legs, to his head. Everywhere there was agony. He emitted several more gasps, praying, waiting for this nightmare to end.

Suddenly many pairs of hands were surrounding him, gripping him tightly. Those several hands lifted him up off the ground where the scores of horrible spikes dug in further at the jostling movement. Next he felt something hard beneath his back and something heavy and scratchy placed over his front. His vision swam in and out of focus; exhaustion pulling his mind back into that blissful void.

"S-S-Saaammmmyyyyy…" Dean's groan echoed from the ground. From the scurrying of feet and the barking of more medical jargon, Sam figured the other medics were attending to his brother now.

_Thank God_, Sam thought as the sky suddenly became strangely black. The rocking motion from the medics carrying him up the long hill lured his mind into a calm oblivion. The drifting flurries of snow dotting the purplish hue gradually became smaller…and smaller…until they vanished…and the world as he knew it was no more.

~o()o~

Sluggishly Sam reached for the bedside phone. Fumbling with the plastic, Sam grimaced at punching in the memorized numbers. The numbing agent the nurse applied to his forearm hadn't kicked in yet. He fell back against his pillow with his eyes closed; the sling encasing his wrapped appendage falling delicately at his side.

It was early in the morning. The out-going ring transmitting to the other receiver pulsated gratingly on his eardrums. He was groggy and exhausted from the previous night and in need of another dose of painkillers. All his senses from the wreck were put into overdrive and now it felt like he was dealing with the aftermath. Any source of noise sounded dim than they ought to have been. The winter sunlight pouring in through the opened blinds was blinding. Even his sense of smell was acute, having the ability to note the tints of juniper from a nurse's perfume against the strong nosehair-singeing bleach smell.

In essence, all of it was conclusive for one thing: he felt like _shit_.

His throat muscles were raw and sore. He cleared his throat as the ringing stopped and a gruff voice answered. "Bobby?" Sam rasped.

"Well, it's about damn time!" The old man hollered aloud. Sam cringed, gritting his teeth against the drum-like action the call put on his ears. Bobby's voice rang aloud through the earpiece again. "I thought something might have happened to you two."

"Good guess." Sam fought against a small chuckle.

"Kid, you sound rough? You okay?"

"Um yeah…well, sort of actually," he answered tentatively. He took a deep shuddering breath before saying, "I just woke up an hour ago and we've…uh Dean and I…were in an accident."

"An accident? Like a car accident?"

"Yeah."

"Is it bad?"

"We're pretty banged up B-Bobby..." Sam trailed off. He was finding it increasingly harder to stay awake. A sudden weight floated over his eyes, his head feeling ten pounds heavier. All he wanted to do was drift back into the warm cocoon he woke up in that morning.

"Was it a hit?" Bobby's question jolted him painstakingly back into awareness.

"No, we think it was just a drunk driver. Drove us straight into a damn lake, but we're not a hundred percent sure. "He cringed again, the aches singing soprano. "Docs spoke to me this morning and told me I had a lot of cuts and abrasions and a torn muscle in my lower left arm. And he said that I had three cracked ribs. Good God, it feels worse than that."

"What about Dean?"

Sam sighed, stealing a glance at his slumbering sibling in the bed adjacent from his, noting the absence of restlessness and the prolonged pained lines etched into his forehead, and the deep dark divots curved under his eyes.

"Uh…they said Dean was a hell of a lot worse off than me. There was a list the length of my arm I swear. First they said when he was brought in, he was in Stage Two Hypothermia, and so they practically had to put 'im into an incubator just to warm him back up. Not only that but he has a concussion, a fractured leg, a couple of jammed fingers, and on and on it went. He's just…he's not feeling good right now. Thank God he's drugged up to the gills and asleep…otherwise, ugh!"

"Alright, alright, where are you? And I'll come get you." Sam heard the rush of papers and the jingling of keys in the background. "Sam? Can you remember where exactly this happened?"

"Oh uh…we're at um…"-Sam scrambled for the local advertising cards on the bedside table-"we are at…" he read off the pamphlet, "the Morning Grove ER in Roverton, Montana. And uh Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring your tow truck."

"No sweat. Roverton? I know where that is. I can be there in a few hours. Sit tight and try to keep your brother calm," the old man advised.

"Better said than done," Sam smirked painfully. "See you in a bit." He hung up emitting out a great heavy sigh. _And now I gotta tell Dean. _He thought to himself. _Yeah, that's going to be fun._

~o()o~

Over the years, Sam would readily admit he has had his fair share of surprises. His brother, especially, has dished out a multitude of twists that was known to knock Sam flat on his ass. And with each and every time, Sam would overcome his moment of paralytic shock and move on.

Except for this.

The moment he heard from the nurse that his brother signed himself out of the hospital, grabbed a crutch, and left out in the middle of the day in nothing but his patient gown and bare feet, yelling about hunting down a certain driver, Sam first became rigid and soon was riddled with shakes. His whole body trembled, fraught with an electric energy he knew not where it came from.

And then a second later he could no longer hold it back as an explosive, heart attack rendering, and sonorous _howl_ burst forth from his mouth.

Along with his elderly compadre Bobby, Sam found himself suffering from a horrible convulsive fit, as his knees buckled and he clung onto his mentor for dear life, as wave after wave of _laughter_ pelted his stomach. His cheeks and brow turned crimson, his insides hurting as loud, seemingly insane barks echoed down the hallway and into the lobby; his dignity long thrown out the window. Passersby looked on in horror, some in curiosity, wanting to see if the circus did arrive and a party of seals was let loose in the small hospital.

Sam could hardly breathe, he was laughing so hard. His ribs sang with hot, liquid pain, but it was a pain worthwhile. Just the image of Dean, with a stern, yet determined expression over his face, limping down the highway, with the back of his gown flapping wildly open with the wind, just had him banging the floor with his fist. He knew his brother would be furious over the damage done to his Baby, but never did he think Dean would go so far as to track down the driver on foot.

Some things in his life, no matter how absurd, he cherished.

The nurse behind the service desk _tsked_ in disapproval. Both Bobby and Sam looked up from the floor and grinned childishly. They rose to their full height, albeit with difficulty-the hiccups were a little hard to get through. With a quick reassurance that he'll find his brother, strap him down to a chair if need be, and haul him back for a final evaluation, Sam continued on laughing as he strolled down the hallway.

He shook his head in bewilderment. He knew Dean to pull off-the-wall stunts before, but this little stunt had to be the mother bakery of all unexpected exploits. It was perhaps Dean was still suffering from a concussion and his head wasn't screwed on tight; or possibly he was so upset and fuming, his tunnel-vision was only set on one thing. Who knew? Sam was only pondering how far he could have trekked, considering his fractured leg, his multiple other fractured bits, his jammed fingers, and other battered appendages.

_Well, considering how he felt about the damn car, hopefully he hasn't gotten too far! _Sam thought. _I knew I should have stayed with him!_

The following morning after Sam spoke to Bobby over the phone, he was discharged, given the instructions to rest up, eat, and stay on top of his prescription. The sling remained, along with the Ace bandage around his midriff; and he didn't bother in removing them during his meeting with Bobby in picking up the Impala from the local junkyard because several times during that day, sharp shooting pains in his side and arm would escalate leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Once the Impala was secure on the back of Bobby's tow-truck, Sam made his way back to the hospital to give his brother the bad news. Dean handled the news a lot better than Sam had anticipated. It took a mere moment for the message to finally kick in through all the cloudy vapor effect of the drugs. Dean's eyes went wild, his jaw slack, and Sam saw the raging storm swirling and wreaking havoc behind the vivid green irises; a glimpse of the disaster that was to come. And soon, the entire room was filled with colorful swearing, vulgar threats, and slurred statements. At the very least, by the end of the tirade, Sam was thankful the room was still in tact.

"Well Dean, we saved a little bit of her for you," Sam tried to console. He fisted the side mirror, placing it carefully in Dean's lap. His brother's eyes misted at the object as he took it in hand and admired it. "She's really not that bad. Bobby says he's gonna take her back to his place once you're better and he'll give ya a pad to work on it. Just like in the old days."

Dean continued to stare at the piece, mumbling a certain curse.

Sam chuckled sheepishly, swiping a hand through his matted locks. "Well, at least her radio is still working."

He glanced away nervously as his brother shot him a look of pure seething. Moments later, Sam left to attend to several matters. It was only fair to assume he needed to get Dean's things underway like his prescription, his clothes, and his route of escape seeing how their insurance was a scam. But luckily Bobby came through with his insurance plan and so that part was taken care of.

Only except now, hours later, Sam was driving down a long backwoods road, using Bobby's bigass truck with the floodlights on, searching for brother dear. Bobby had opted to stay at the motel in case Dean decided to show up. Sam took the roads slow, glancing left and right into the eerie dark woods on either side.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand Dean's rationality behind this impromptu excursion. If he was seeking revenge, well, first he needed to find out just who had crashed into them. Finding a computer should have been Dean's first priority, but surprisingly no one at the local library or motel had seen him. He could think of other sources of Dean's location, but given Dean's current state of mind? Sam was left to take his chances on the roads.

_And how the hell did he evade the cops?_ Sam shook his head in thinking. _Surely someone would have picked him up._

But no, he wasn't at the station either!

No sooner had Sam turned down a bend in the road had a limping figure a hundred yards away loomed into view. Sam stifled a laugh at seeing the dirt and grime covering the fast walking legs, the shine of perspiration dotting the back of Dean's neck, and, of course, the hilarious shot of his backside floating in and out of view as the wind was wild on the outside. He pulled the truck up slow behind the person and stopped.

Sam saw Dean halt and turn around, gazing either heatedly or appreciatively at him—it was hard to tell. Seconds later he saw to his relief Dean roll his eyes and then make his way towards the vehicle. There was a groan, a grunt, a squeak of the door, and finally his brother was settled in the passenger seat.

Sam said nothing for a long moment. He merely stared to the front, waiting patiently for his brother to say the first word.

"Alright! You can say it!" Dean stated irritably, jerking his "borrowed" crutch off to his side.

"I wasn't going to say anything." Sam innocently replied.

"Bull. I know you. You probably laughed your ass off and are thinking of many miles on this one." Dean sent a sideways glare and challenged, "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong." Sam lied, pressing on the gas. "So uh? Going after the prick, eh? On foot no less?"

"Put a sock in it," Dean spat. "Since my wheels have been compromised, what else do I have in getting around?"

"Me and Bobby."

That answer shut Dean up quick. He looked around uninterested, but Sam knew better. He was embarrassed. His actions were a little too short-circuited, and now he was finally beginning to understand the ridiculousness behind it all. "So? We crashed into a lake, huh?"

"Yep. And we had to swim out, because like it or not, you were just too damn heavy to lift out of there. Seriously man, go on a diet."

"Shut it bitch-face," Dean swatted his shoulder gently. "But I got a question for ya Einstein. Why in the hell didn't you just call Cas, and get us out of there?"

"Oh." Sam's features became alight with the dawning understanding of that question. And now it was his turn to be embarrassed. "Huh? I didn't think of it. And honestly I was too frozen to think about anything. I was too busy trying to pry my fingers apart Dean, so I could get your worthless ass out of the window. Not fun, I might add."

"Oh, okay. But, uh, next time? Just call. I'm sure he can save us the next medical bill," Dean jibed with a sarcastic grin. "And uh, one more thing?"

"What?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dude, were you seriously singing Cinderella?"

Sam paused, his hands growing solid over the steering wheel. His eyes kept straight ahead and he said nothing. He licked his lips, still staring hard at the road. "Hmmm nope. Haven't a clue of what you're talking about."

Dean rubbed his eyes tiresomely. "Really? Cuz I could have sworn I heard you humming that tune."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Sorry man. Those drugs they've got you hooked on can be a dangerous thing."

"Yeah, no kiddin'. But man, do they make me feel good! Speaking of, do you have any on you? I think my supply might be a little low. Everything…just…hurts, you know?"

"You still want to call Cas?"

"Nah. I'll take the drugs."

"Oh! Figures," Sam mumbled to himself, turning off the dark road and onto a suburban housed street. "Take it easy. I've got something better than drugs."

"Where are we going?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled. "You'll see."

Soon Sam parked the truck off the side to a very pleasant-looking home and extended out a finger. Dean followed the direction in which his brother pointed. He spotted just what exactly Sam had his eyes on and suddenly a mighty, glowing, mischievous grin plastered over his handsome face. _Oh yeah! Better than drugs!_

~o()o~

The next morning dawned beautiful and bright. The mahogany door of the pleasant two-story home opened and out stepped a young, tousled-haired teenager. Feeling the chill, the young man zipped the nape of his heavy jacket up past his growing beard. He took a cigarette out of his back pocket and placed it behind his ear, before fishing out the tangle of brass keys.

Locating the ignition key, he jiggled it unenthusiastically, not at all happy to prepare for the day. He padded down the slope of his parent's driveway towards his company's truck and then paused in horror and disbelief.

The truck was dismantled. All four gargantuan tires were sliced and shredded, its hood up and its wires and cables cut, the only remaining license plate nailed into the busted windshield by a crowbar. And on top of it all, the back tailgate was left down, all of its contents of garbage spilt out and flooding the interior of his father's Porsche convertible.

The jerk, still plagued with disbelief, walked up to the driver's door. On the door was a picture of a black Chevy glued to the fiberglass by a piece of chewed gum. There was a note beneath it, and on it was scribbled, "_You see this car? Next time, dodge it douchebag_."

"Fuck!"

**The End!**

**And that's all folks! **** Thanks so much for reading. Hope ya'll have enjoyed it. And a special thanks goes to T.L. Arens for the idea about the picture left on the truck. And to crazybeagle! Thanks girl for the convo about Dean's motive. It was a fun little idea that I was happy to bring to life. **

**Tootles! **


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